


Not Very User Friendly (Poor Stupid Narancia 1)

by Mistahoni



Series: Poor Stupid Narancia [1]
Category: JoJo no Kimyouna Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
Genre: Gen, Humiliation, Situational Humiliation, Trans Male Character, Urination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 05:22:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/988183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistahoni/pseuds/Mistahoni
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the arrival of his new STP, Narancia wastes no time in testing it out… Maybe he should have read the directions first.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Very User Friendly (Poor Stupid Narancia 1)

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this picture,](http://pocketsizedoni.tumblr.com/post/57315050980/i-like-to-headcanon-narancia-as-trans-fite-me) I decided I wanted to have some fun with poor, pitiful, stupid... I mean, cute trans!Narancia.

Narancia sat eagerly by the front door of the café, waiting for the mailman. “Today’s gotta be the day,” he thought. “It’s gonna come today, it’s gonna come today, it’s gonna come today,” he repeated under his breath. He waited and waited and waited by the door all day, until the sun sank behind the rooftops, leaving poor Narancia sitting in the dark, lonely café entrance. It didn’t come today. He was in the middle of contemplating whether or not he should just sit in front of the door all night when someone flicked on the lights, shouting his name.

“Narancia!” It was Bruno, and he sounded pissed. “What the hell have you been doing all day?”

“I- I was, uh…”

Bruno glowered down at him. “I told you to stop getting your shit delivered here, we’re a mafia post, not a PO box.” Narancia lowered his head in shame. “And you can’t just spend all day waiting for the mail, we’ve got things to do. Besides,” he said, tossing a small box at Narancia, “It came yesterday.” The package hit Narancia’s head before bouncing off and landing in front of him. He hurriedly picked it up and dashed past Bruno, uttering a slurred “Thanksorrynight” as he rushed to his room.

Locking the door behind him, Narancia stared in awe at his package for a moment, before tearing it open to reveal… his package. A brand-new STP, silicone molded and “very lifelike,” sat before him in all its glory. He imagined he could even see a holy light around it for a moment. But why waste time admiring it in the box when he could try it on? He dropped his pants, kicked them off his feet, and fished around in his briefs to pull out the tube sock he had been using until now. “Goodbye, old friend!” He chuckled. “And hello new junk!” He took the dick from its packaging, giving it a tender squeeze, and wedged it into place. He turned to the mirror and posed. “Well, hey there, Stud,” he said to his reflection, taking on a new pose. “Going my way?” He threw off his shirt and flexed his arms. Even with his small budding breasts, pretty face, and girlish waist, the addition of a dick in his underwear did a wonder in casting a masculine image.

He continued posing and posturing for quite some time, until he felt nature’s call. A perfect chance to break in his new “tool,” he thought. He poked his head into the hallway, and, finding it deserted and hearing nothing save for some small noises from the others’ rooms, slipped his clothes back on and made his way to the bathroom and closed the door, trembling excitedly. “Calm down, Narancia,” he whispered. “You can do this.” He was on the verge of unbuttoning his pants when the idea hit him—guys don’t take off their pants to piss, they just stick it through their fly! He could have hit himself for that one, it was so obvious! He spent a good minute trying to maneuver his new dick through the flap on his briefs—How do guys ever make it to the can on time? – but eventually managed to poke it through both his underwear and his fly.

He stood in front of the toilet, closed his eyes, and relaxed. He felt a warmth around his nethers as he imagined his piss arcing gracefully to its destination, hearing the gentle splash of water on porcelain… but he didn’t hear anything. It was a moment before he realized that warmth was the problem—he opened his eyes to see that telltale dark patch spreading down his pant legs and onto the floor in a yellow puddle. Eyes widening in horror, he tried to stem the flow, but the damage was done. He opened the door, bolted back to his room, and slammed the door. Panting, he kicked off his soaked pants and briefs, balled them up, and threw them under his bed before crawling under the covers, still smelling like piss and shame.

An hour later, Mista was standing in front of the sink, his gun disassembled and ready to be cleaned before he went to bed. In the middle of scrubbing the cylinder, the piece slipped from his hand; Mista dove after it, but too late, it hit the floor, and so did he. It was at this point that he noticed the puddle he and his gun now lay in.

Irate, he stomped into the hall, shouting, “Who pissed on the fucking floor?” Abbachio’s curious face poked out of his room. “Was it you? Huh?” He shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at Abbachio, who crossed his arms and frowned.

“Just why would you think it was me?”

“You know perfectly well, you… you… pissboy!”

“That was one time, in my own room, and it taught you the very valuable lesson of knocking first. Besides, Fugo and I just got back. Ask Narancia, he’s been here all day.”

Narancia heard all this from his room and started to panic. It would be obvious that it was him, the smell of the evidence still under his bed was starting to permeate the room. He hurriedly threw on some pajamas and fished his wet pants from their hiding place, looking around for a way to get rid of them. Then it hit him—throw them out the window!

He tossed out the smelly garments—of course, saving his new toy—and watched as they hit the ground with a soft splat. He let out a sigh of relief… all too soon, however, as moments later there was a knock at his door and in barged Mista, Abbachio in tow, muttering, “What’s the point of knocking if you’re just going to go in anyway?”

Mista ignored this. “You piss on the floor?” He asked accusingly.

Narancia’s heart was racing. “N-no! M-must’ve been somebody else!” His voice was close to breaking.

Abbachio cut in. “You were the only one here all day, who else could it have been?”

“I dunno! Somebody could’ve come in!” He blushed when he realized how guilty he sounded. “Whatever, I’m tired, okay? Get out.” He pushed the pair out, locking the door behind him. He paced the room in an attempt to calm down. They didn’t suspect, did they? That was too close—but what about the pants? He couldn’t go get them now, not after that scene. No, it would be best to wait for the others to fall asleep. He was so tired, though; it couldn’t hurt to rest his eyes, just for a minute. He lay back on the bed and drifted off to sleep.

Narancia opened his eyes to blaring sunlight. Shit. He had slept through the entire night. He rushed to the window and looked down into the alley to find—thankfully—his pants were still there… being fought over by a pack of dogs.

“Hey!” he shouted down to the animals. Bad idea. The dogs darted off to the street, taking Narancia’s pants with them. So much for that plan, he thought. He dug through his dresser to find another pair, grumbling about his bad luck—those pants had been practically brand new… and probably completely ruined, he thought with a shameful cringe.

He found an old pair of pants in the back of one drawer and tried to pull them on. They fit, but only just; barely enough room for his natural nether bits, nevermind his STP. Disappointed, he tucked the toy in his dresser drawer. Not that it would do me much good, he thought, his face burning as everything was called to the front of his mind—his failure to use his new dick, the mess he had left in the bathroom, how he was now sure everyone knew that it was his fault. Poor, stupid Narancia, he can’t even piss right.

As that thought occurred to him, Narancia realized his urge to answer nature’s call. Steeling his nerves and poking his head out the door, he found the hallway to be empty. He tiptoed towards the bathroom, only to find that it had been blocked off, labeled with a sign that read “Temporarily closed for cleaning.” Narancia blushed once more and stormed downstairs. Surely he hadn’t made THAT much of a mess! He tried to shrug it off; there was another toilet downstairs, and he didn’t need to use the bathroom that badly, anyway.

That’s what he thought, at least. When he entered the café, he was bombarded with sounds of liquids from all sides—water running in the sink, coffee brewing on the counter, several people sipping their drinks loudly. His bladder protested with a small twinge as he made his way to the bathroom door… only to find it locked. He jiggled the doorknob aggressively, desperately trying to get in, jumping back when a voice from inside angrily responded, “Occupied!” One hand held to his chest, he tried to calm himself down as he checked his pants with his other hand. Thankfully, that little shock hadn’t scared anything out of him, and it had gotten his mind off of his aching bladder enough for him to realize he was starving.

Scanning the café, he found an empty table with an abandoned—and practically untouched—bowl of oatmeal with blueberries and a glass of juice. Narancia pounced on the food, wolfing it down, periodically turning to look at the bathroom door. He could wait for one person to finish, but didn’t want to chance waiting for a second longer.

He was nearly finished with the oatmeal, just a couple mouthfuls and a few berries left, when he heard the bathroom door open. He jumped up, carrying the glass of juice and not even bothering to swallow his mouthful of oatmeal, and started to make a beeline for the toilet, when he heard a shout from behind him.

“Hey, who ate my breakfast?!” Narancia turned to see a fuming Mista, glaring right at him. He suddenly wished that he had not eaten anything… or, at the very least, that he had not left exactly four blueberries. He also wished he hadn’t stopped to see who was yelling, because the very next moment he heard the bathroom door close. When it rains, it pours, he thought. His bladder twitched, and he immediately wished he hadn’t.

Mista was marching towards him. “Um… Wafm’t me?” Narancia tried to say around his mouthful of oats, which didn’t help his case. He tried his hardest to swallow, but failed… So he ran. He didn’t get very far, however, as Mista grabbed one of the leftover blueberries and, calling up his stand, flicked it towards Narancia. He shouted out in pain and tripped over himself as the blueberry bullet hit the back of his head, causing him to dribble oatmeal down his front. Mista took his time walking over to him, lifted him up by his shirt, and looked him straight in the eyes.

“I hope it was worth it, because now you’re gonna clean up your mess AND make me something to eat.” Mista dragged Narancia to the kitchen, grabbing the bowl and glass—both had fallen to the floor when Narancia tried to run.

Nearly half an hour later, Narancia stumbled from the kitchen, his bladder aching. He looked towards the bathroom just in time to see the door close. Just his luck. There was no waiting for this person to finish this time, he needed to let go.

But where, he thought. Upstairs was out, downstairs was occupied… The kitchen sink? No, Mista was still in there. He needed to come up with something, and fast. And then it hit him: he could just run out to the alley and go there… but he’d have to run, if he wanted to make it.

He leapt up, dashing through the café, around tables, over chairs, past several irate customers. “Out of the way! Emergency! Coming through!” He bellowed at the top of his lungs. He was nearly to the door, just another few feet and sweet relief would be his. He lunged for the doorknob, ready to wrench it open and bolt outside, when the door opened of its own accord. Narancia did everything in his power to stop himself, but it was too late—he crashed headlong into the man in the doorway, falling flat on his ass. He only had a moment to see that it was Bruno, looking down on him with disdain, before his strength gave out and he felt a warm, wet sensation spreading over his crotch.

No. This couldn’t be happening. He didn’t just piss himself. Not in front of a crowd of strangers, especially not in front of his boss. This was a nightmare; surely he was going to wake up any moment now. His eyes firmly shut, he begged himself to wake up… but nothing happened. His face burned with embarrassment and greatly wished he could just sink into the floor. Murmurs from the crowd around him grew louder; he could clearly hear Mista’s laughter, concerned whispers, and, to top it all off, Bruno calling his name.

“Narancia.”

“Narancia.” He repeated sternly. Narancia flinched. “Narancia?” Bruno’s tone softened, crouching beside the boy. It didn’t seem to help, however, as tears started falling down his face, soon accompanied by small sobs. Bruno straightened up and motioned for Abbachio, who was standing behind him. “Take Narancia upstairs, help him clean himself up. I’ll be up to check on him soon, I have some things to take care of, first.” His attention then turned to Mista, still doubled over with laughter.

“Mista, clean up this mess.”


End file.
